


To the world

by Swarms_of_crabs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swarms_of_crabs/pseuds/Swarms_of_crabs
Summary: TW: Suicide attempt, depressionCrowley has a hard time dealing with Aziraphale's rejection
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 3 a.m go easy on me

Crowley's door slammed behind him as he stormed into his flat. The sound echoed through the dimley lit rooms, as he paced back and forth through the stark gray sitting room until finally collapsing in his golden throne, head in his hands. He sat like this for somewhere between 30 seconds and several millenia.

When the thoughts and memories chasing each other through Crowley's head began to still, he bounced up to a standing position, hardly seeming to transfer the intervening distance at all. He seized his plant mister from a black wooden end table and strode down the narrow hallway to his plant room.

Some might have called it a private greenhouse, or an indoor garden, but this was being too generous. It was really a miracle the plants survived, and even thrived, with what little light that managed to find its way through the tiny window. Or rather, it was a complete lack of miracles, as Crowley made a point of never using miracles to help his plants grow. He called this "cheating". Crowley wanted it to be known that his plants grew this way solely because of their complete terror if him, and for no other reason.

Today, however, Crowley was in no mood to yell at his plants, or even to shred any using his paper shredder he had bought solely for the this purpose. Instead, he half-heartedly glared at a particularly verdent fern before misting the plants, and eventually slumping down onto to floor.

"He'sss an angel"

Crowley's voice hissed quietly in the humid air. The plants seemed to shiver slightly in confusion, and one young philodendron even leaned slightly closer to Crowley's hunched form.

"He's a fuckin angel. Sure, he's  
s... unorthodox, but he's ssstill a ruddy angel. We both know where his loyaltiesss lie."

The philodendron began to inch closer to its master, despite the whispered protestations of it's brethren.

"I just though, for a minute, maybe he... Maybe he changed. Maybe he though I was worth it. But no. I just 'go too fast for him', I guess. Of course Heaven's more important, why wouldn't it be."

This last question was not a question, but a statement .

"S'not hissss fault. What did I expect would happen? 'Yes Crowley, I love you, let's run away to Alpha centuri! While we're at it, let's fall in love like humans!' Bah! Why would he leave it all for me? Because I was nice to him a couple times? Let's face it. I'm not a human, neither is he. He has higher commitments than relationships. Not lest with me. If he's even capable of human love, why would it be me? I'm a demon. I'm evil and unredeemable and all that shite. Azi's smarter than that. 'Our team' my ass. He could never love someone like me. Nobody could ever... Nobody could... Nobody-"

At this, Crowley broke into quiet sobs. He hid his face on his hands, feeling lost and broken. He remembered feeling this way once before. After his fall, when he dragged himself out of the fiery lakes of hell, the first time lost everything. But Crowley didn't have anything to lose this time. All he had was Aziraphale. And now, he didn't even have him. He had nothing, and he was lost.

Crowley felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder. He flinched.

"A-Azi?"

Crowley sniffled, looking up to see the heart shaped leaves of a common philodendron. Furious, he jerked away from the plant, snarling.

"GET AWAY FROM ME! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU SSSON OF A- " Crowley jumped to his feet, his yellow eyes burning like hell itself. Suddenly, he paused. The plants shuddered as Crowley's tear streaked face broke into a horrifying grin.

"Now, I sssee this as a learning opportunity." He snarled "You bastards get to learn what happens to plants that get too... sssentimental." 

The philodendron seemed to wilt, shrinking away from Crowley's grip. A nearby Christmas cactus was shaking so violently that a segment forell from its branch to the floor. Crowley wheeled around and glared at it, but decided he could deal with it later. He took several long, deliberate strides to his shredding room. In it lay one industrial strength ShredPro G6 paper shredder. Crowley held the de-potted philodendron over the shredd nh by do theyer, grinning maniacly. The plant braced itself for the coming oblivion, and was surprised when it didn't come. Instead, it felt itself being placed back in it's pot, along with a frustrated growl from Crowley. 

"Who am I fucking kidding."

Crowley turned and left the Shredding Room, lacking any vestige of his usual swagger. Without quite knowing how he had gotten there, he found himself back in his "sitting room", slumped in his golden throne. Crowley pondered briefly the presence of his throne. A symbol of royalty, of power. Power and control he never seemed to have. Just another fucking object, like his Bentley or his plants. Something he could pretend to love and tend to to try and fill that deep empty hole in his chest. A hole that had been eating away at him longer than he could remember. Before Eden. Before his fall, even. He had come to accept it as part of being a supernatural being.

But then came Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, with his nervous smiles and his bright eyes and his never ending love for all living things. Aziraphale, who made Crowley feel something other than spite and loneliness. Aziraphale, who filled part of that hole in his heart with soft golden light, so much like the sunbeams that would drift through his bookstore on especially gorgeous Sunday afternoons. Aziraphale, the angel, who was infinitely too good for him, and who could never love someone as ruined as him.

Crowley's heart seared his insides with a furious desperation. He remarked, as if looking at a stranger, that he wasn't crying anymore, though his face was still flushed and he could still feel the tears drying on his face. He wasn't breaking anything or yelling, just sitting in his empty throne, the king of loneliness, feeling his body burning itself from the inside out.

Crowley liked the feeling.

It was warm and comfortable in this state of mind. He didn't need to try anymore. All of that running and yelling, when this was just so much easier. Just relaxing into the confines of his own sadness. 

Crowley's mind drifted gently to the thermos in his safe. Would oblivion really be so bad? Better than this, probably. Better than an eternity burning in hell with all the other lost souls. It wasn't like he'd be missed. Aziraphale had made it clear that Crowley was nothing more than an amusing way to pass the time. Hell would replace him in an instant, and Hastur and Ligur would probably be glad to see him gone. It's not like any of the humans would notice.

Seemingly by teleportation, Crowley suddenly found himself starting at his safe, his finders hovering millimeters from the dial. As if controlled by some outwardly force, his numb fingers turned the dial right, then left, then right again. With a faint click, the safe door swung open, revealing a nondescript silver thermos which Crowley picked up and carried back to his throne.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Crowley remarked that he should probably be carrying the thermos with more care. It's contents could, of course, end his life in seconds. But that didn't seem very important right now. After all, that was the very reason he had retrieved it in the first place. Slowly, almost reverently, he unscrewed the cap. Gingerly, he sniffed the contents, which despite having no actual scent still burnt Crowley's nostrils as if he had just inhaled a lungfull of hot smoke.

The showman in him awoke again, just long enough to convince Crowley that if he was going to go, he might as well go in style. He withdrew his most expensive (and only) crystal martini glass, rimmed it with salt, and poured himself a generous glass of Holy Water. After a brief consideration, he also added a wedge of lime. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice was laughing. A cruel, mirthless laugh, that sounded all too much like his own. 

*Do it. Do it you fucking coward. It'll be the first good thing you ever did on this miserable planet. Do you think your precious Aziraphale will cry for you? I bet he won't. I bet he'll be happy. Happy that he doesn't need to pretend to like you anymore. You seriously though he could love you? You're even more stupid than I thought, you pathetic excuse for a demon.*

The voice continued inside his head, Mocking and goading him. All the while, the fire continued to rage under Crowley's skin. A fire that could only be out our in one way.

Crowley grabbed the delicate stem of the crystal glass with three fingers. He leaned back in his throne. The voice had gone silent, as if it was holding its breath. His pathetic human heart beat heavy in his chest, as if hoping that if it beat hard enough it could escape the doomed body in which it was trapped.

Crowley raised his glass, toasting to thin air, and slowly brought it to his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My way of coping with my mental health problems is to project them onto Crowley, then have Aziraphale comfort him

Aziraphale sat on a plush couch in the back room of the book store, his hear in his hands. All of the anger and defiance he had feltwhen he refused Crowley's offer had fizzled away, leaving nothing but guilt, loneliness, and more than anything, confusion.

He did like Crowley, of course. He always had. Since that first perfect day in Eden, the day before the storm. There was something in his eyes, those golden eyes that burned like a dying sun, and that made Aziraphale imagine, just for a moment, that there might be something more to life than angelic benevolence. He had, if course, dismissed it at the time, assuming it to be just another temptation, meant to lead him off the path of the Lord and into sin.

But then there was their second meeting. And the next, and the next. And even though Crowley had since started covering his eyes, Aziraphale could still feel that light, that *what if*, that shone deep within that cynical face. Every time they met, Aziraphale fel himself becoming more and more enraptured by the demon Crowley. He could never quite put his finger on why. Why he continued to engage with him and, well, on a certain few occasions, if he had... Tweaked the variables a bit to lead to a "coincidental" meeting, then what of it? He was fascinated, that was all. Just an innocent fascination with this strange demon, with his sly smiles and quick wit and tall, sleek frame, and that gorgeous long red hair that Aziraphale longed to run his fingers through...

Oh fuck.

As he sat there, an open book forgotten on the table, his tea now stone cold, he realised. Like a set of gears finally clicking into place and beginning to whir, he realised why he was so fixated on Crowley.

He was in love with him.

Some proper, angelic part of him began screaming tgat he couldn't, that it was improper, that if heaven found out he would be executed faster than he could say Tickety Boo. An angel and a demon, it couldn't be, it was against the natural order of things.

But that little voice of reason was but drowned out by a wonderfully warm feeling rising in his chest. Aziraphale had never experienced anything like it in all his 6000 years on Earth. He felt a flus rising in his cheeks, and he failed to suppress a smile. He loved Crowley. Real, romantic, love. Not that vague angelic love he was supposed to feel for all living things, but something warm and real and so, so wonderful.

Unbidden, images flooded through his mind of warm, soft kisses, of Crowley's slender fingers intertwined with his own, and the feeling of his hair in Aziraphale's hands. Aziraphale smiled despite himself, and found himself walking through the door of his shop. 

He was uncertain what he planned to do next. He wasn't often prone to such fits of impulsivity, or, for that matter, human emotions. Nonetheless, every part of him was screaming at him that he needed to see Crowley, now, and to apologize for refusing to run away with him. He wasn't planning to tell Crowley his feelings, of course. Even if he wanted to, he was sure his nerve would fail him as it had so many times in the past. More than anything, Aziraphale just wanted to see his face again. He hailed a cab and sat anxiously in his seat, hands fidgiting restlessly in his lap. 

"Hi Crowley, how are you my dear?" he rehearsed under his breath. No. My dear? Far too intimate. "Hello, Crowley old pal!" He grimaced. Old pal? Definitely not. "Hey buddy!" Nope. He sounded like a chav. Oh my, he really had gone native.

He continued going over introductions and scenarios in his head, until the cabbie announced that they'd reached their destination. Realising that he'd forgotten to bring any money, he quietly miracled a twenty pound note into his hand and handed it to the driver, leaping out of the cab and not waiting for his change.

Upon reaching Crowley's flat, he took a deep breath, and knocked politely. There was no response. He tried again, to no avail. Out of curiosity, he tried the doorknob, finding to his surprise that it was unlocked. The onyx black floor reflected his own nervous face back at him as he entered the room.

There was something going on. The aura of the room was... wrong. Sure, Crowley's flat had never had the most cheerful of auras, but this was different. Aziraphale cracked open the door the the sitting room, peeking nervously around the corner, and his breath caught in his throat. 

Crowley sat in his golden throne, legged crossed over the side, holding a glass of clear liquid in a trembling hand, eyes closed. Aziraphale knew without having to wonder what the contents of the glass were. He was an angel of course, he could recognize Holy Water anywhere.

After a moment's hesitation, Aziraphale ran into the room, smacking the glass out of Crowley's hand. It shattered with a quiet tinkle, spilling its contents across the floor. The splash narrowly missed Crowley, who seemed completely in shock by this sudden turn of events. He looked at Aziraphale with such a look of utter despair and loneliness in his golden eyes that he couldn't help but pulling Crowley into a tight hug, holding him as he began to weep. 

There they sat for some time. The angel and the demon, holding each other like they were the only two beings in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure whether or not to end it here. Would you guys like to see more?

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for this shitstorm. Any constructive criticism would be welcome, as this is only my second ever fanfiction. This isn't the end by the way, there's more coming soon hopefully


End file.
